Search For The Pearl

My puzzle of a thousand pieces is nearly completed. I speak of both the analogous one and the one lying flat here on my table. Only the blue and white sky remains unfinished (for now). Based on the image, do you know what city is depicted? I will be moving there in 2021. 


The world is my oyster. It’s such a strange and opaque phrase. I am appropriately embarrassed to be using it here but it sure seems fitting as I plan my future. The term has its origins in Shakespeare so it could have five additional meanings, but I’m going with: All possibilities are available, including the chance of finding a pearl. This is pier on which I stand, looking far beyond the shores of America. The world is my oyster. I now search for the pearl.

What an indulgent thought experiment it was. After my decision was made to live abroad, a world of possibilities unfolded before me. Once I had mentally escaped the gravitational pull of my home country, I was suddenly free to float about the spaceship. I could then gaze down upon planet earth from my window and choose where I would like to land. It was exhilarating, liberating. So many grand and exciting places to choose from: Rome, Paris, Istanbul, Sydney, Moscow, Shanghai…. Where in the world shall I live? 

I could have taped a map to the wall, put on a blindfold, and thrown a dart towards my future, but that’s not my style. I’ve come too far to not think it through– to interlock more pieces of my puzzle until the right answer emerged. Just as I had arrived at so many other life-altering conclusions in this crazy year of 2020, I would have fun working this where-in-the-world conundrum, too. In a way, I was going home-shopping, but not for a roof and four walls (that comes later); I was shopping the world for a place to call home.

No Sweat

One of the best things about living in Boulder as I do now is the climate. Having lived in Texas my whole life up until two years ago, this climate is new to me. And frankly…what’s not to like? The lower humidity is awesome and, even at the peak of summer, the day’s heat is swept away by the cool night air leaving every morning fresh and chill. More of this, please. So, as my search for a city began, climate was the first consideration. From there I wrote down on a piece of paper all of my critical must-haves. After all, I want what I want, right?! Besides a cooler climate, here’s what else topped my list. 

Clean air. I work in solar. I own an all-electric car. It pains me to drive around Denver for work and see that murky dome of pollution hovering over it. Such a downer. Yes, clean air is super-important to me.

English or Spanish. Pretty early-on I decided to limit my search to countries where either English or Spanish is the dominant language. in moving abroad, I’ll have enough going on already to add a language barrier to the mix. Also, though my Spanish is “functional” now, I’ve always wanted it to be better. The thought of making a new life for myself in a Spanish-speaking country is something I find quite appealing.

Small-to-mid-size. In a much earlier blog post (2017 Reboot) I talked about living half-a-year with my friends in Modesto, California. One thing I really liked about Modesto was its size. Not too small, not too big. Size-wise, it was just right. With this in mind, I would focus my search on cities of comparable size- 150,000 to 300,000.  

Affordable. Since I was aiming for a lifestyle where working would be optional, I had to focus on cities that scored low on the cost-of-living index. 

Quality Healthcare. C’mon! Need I say more? 

Low crime. Once I started looking at websites that ranked cities based on all sorts of criteria, I found crime rate indices, too. Ah, good go know. Instantly, low rates of crime became something I would be looking at. 

Key criteria in hand, I still didn’t know how to go about conducting a world-wide city-search. “To the Internet!” was naturally my rallying cry. But the internet is a big place. Where would I begin?

Ask A Librarian

I have a longtime family-friend who happens to be a librarian. I called Becky Rose and asked for help. While my question didn’t land directly in her research wheelhouse, she was still able to direct me on to a couple of websites that ended up being quite useful. As an example, here is one of them:

I never found any site that did exactly what I wanted, which would have been to neatly present me with a list of all of the highest-rated cities filtered according to my must-haves. The tedious reality was that I had to hunt, peck and compare cities around the world until I spotted a few places that merited a closer look. 

I should also mention that my own chops as a fairly accomplished world traveler ( gave me a good deal of personal experience to draw upon. Cities like Quito, Ecuador; Santiago, Chile; London, England; and Vitoria, Spain, were all thoroughly considered at one point or another in my search. I have personally spent time in each of these fine cities and think very highly of all of them. However, determining whether or not they became finalists depended solely on how well they matched up against my search criteria.

Conversations with friends who have done their fair share of traveling were also hugely influential. One particular city in Spain called Salamanca was put on my radar after a lifelong friend (David King) told me about the wondrous time he’d spent exploring this small city in western Spain many years ago. I had never heard of this city before, but it ended up becoming one of my finalists.


One city that ranked very high in my search criteria was Montevideo, Uruguay. It has the climate I want, a low cost of living, clean air, a competent healthcare system, and all the rest. Even when I took a deeper research-dive into Montevideo, it remained a great candidate. I read expat blogs, joined a Uruguay Facebook Group for expats, and even had an hour-long Skype conversation with an Austrian retiree who’d been living in Montevideo for the past 5 years. 

What I learned is that folks who choose to move to Uruguay sure seem like they’ve got it figured out. It’s a nice life. And so far away from the world’s problems. What ultimately steered me away from Uruguay was that…while it’s a great place to retire, it would be a hard place for someone like me to earn money. As I explained in the previous post, my personal financial resources should provide me with the basic I want what I want lifestyle without having to work. But I just can’t embrace the mind-set of “retiring.” I want to continue working in the solar/renewables industry… assuming they’ll have me. 

One other thing that kind of turned me off about Uruguay. From what I gathered, Uruguayans are not very “driven.” They live a super chilled-out lifestyle and that’s the way they like it. No one’s in a hurry. No one (of course I am hugely generalizing) is clamoring to do first-rate work and get ahead in life. Coming from America I thought this might be a little too much culture-shock. Granted, I should expect to make some attitudinal adjustments wherever I’m going, but bounds of reason, right?

The Puzzle of A Thousand Pieces Comes Together

To the six faithful readers of this blog- the ones who have been there from the beginning and read every post with genuine interest. And to all the rest who have caught a glimpse of my musings here and there…. I feel joyous in telling you:

I am moving to Spain. I am moving to Salamanca, Spain. 

What a moment this is! I am taking a deep breath now. Getting myself to this point has been such an awesome intellectual, psychological, and literary journey! Of course, my story is far from over (since I am both not dead and haven’t physically gone anywhere yet); I’m just saying the journey from the Puzzle of a Thousand Pieces post to this one has already been epic.

Yes, I will continue to blog as I move forward with my plans. In terms of the central story-arc of the 1 More World blog, however, just a few more posts remain. 

Before leaving you today, please grant me a few extra words to tell you about my new city of Salamanca (population est. 150,000), and to thank my friend David King for bringing this spot of earth to my attention. Salamanca is a beautiful ancient-world city located less than 2 hours west-northwest of Madrid by train. Despite Salamanca’s 2000 year old history, it stays relevant today by being a “university town,” home to the University of Salamanca fighting salamanders. [Okay, I made that last part up. I don’t actually know what their school mascot is.] The University of Salamanca is notable for being the third-oldest continuously operating university in the entire world– founded in 1134!!!

I have been to Spain on two different occasions but never to Salamanca. I’m so looking forward to it.

The next four posts of the 1 More World blog are SUPER-interesting. Keep reading!

Night of the Avalanche

I begin this post speaking directly to you; not through some scene from my life, or reflection of a thought, or roundabout story. It’s straight from me to you, and here’s my message: This is the one. This post sits at the apex of the blog “story arc.” [You can pretty much stop reading any posts that come after this one.] If you’ve been with me since the beginning, fantastic! If you’ve stumbled onto this post and none previous, what a great stroke of serendipity this could be, because….

This is the night of the avalanche! 

That’s what it was like one special night in April when a chain of clear and enlightened thoughts tumbled from my head with all the force and weight of an avalanche. 

More than a few times within this post I’ll include words or lines that are references to one or more of my previous 18 posts. I will not pause to point these moments out, because there will be a lot of them, but I will include links on occasion. This post (and this night) is where everything that’s gone before it “links” together like pieces of a puzzle.  

To get us from here to the pay-off, come into my house, come into my head, Tuesday evening, April 21, 2020. Live this evening with me. Many big life-lessons depend the axiom, you have to live it to get it. What stories are capable of doing is connecting us to the lives of others so that we can still learn by living within stories that are not our own. The life-changing conclusions I had arrived as the avalanche ended are revealed to you in this post. Perhaps it’s a longshot, but my hope would be for you to capture something from my story that becomes a piece in your own life’s puzzle.

By the way, every word that I write are my thoughts, [obvi], but when I use the italics, I’ll typically be signaling to you, “this is what I’m thinking.”

Are you ready? Here goes! Right now I am thinking, the avalanche is about to begin.


Cleared For An Edible

I like having a roommate. Simply sharing the space with someone else (provided you get along as well as Derek and I do), adds just enough human connection without being too much. Especially, when you and your roommate have opposite schedules. ;-). Derek is working tonight and out of the house until past midnight. I love it when I have the entire evening to myself.

It’s a Tuesday. I’ve made one of my deluxe veggie sandwiches for dinner. So good. I think it’s the arugula that makes it. Been thinking a lot about the new therapy I started. Sure seems like some freaky-ass voodoo to me, yet I’m still feeling excited to be taking it on. Last night was only my second session with the therapist so there’s nothing much to report so far. Sandwiches are nice sometimes for dinner… so long as they’re hearty enough. The cheese and avocado pack the hearty. 

Clean-up is relatively easy after a sandwich. I put the cutting board and knives into the sink to be washed later. Honestly, I love that Derek sometimes leaves his dishes in the sink; gives me permission to do the same.  It’s almost 7:30, that’s when I’ll eat one 10 mg square of my cannabis-infused dark chocolate. On the nights that are clear for an edible, like tonight, 7:30 always seemed like a good time to take it. I don’t have great reasons for believing this, but I figure I can enjoy my evening and then once it mostly wears off, it will be bedtime. 

One Hour and Counting

An hour and a half later I’m in the basement, moving laundry from the washer to the dryer. So annoying that the doors open in exactly the opposite direction you need them to for making the transfer of clothes easy. I can feel the edible. It kicked in slowly about 20 mins ago. Maybe it’ll be slightly more intense since I had avocado on my sandwich. They say the THC binds better with fatty foods which might make its effects slightly more intense. Who knows? I’m feeling its effects now and just hope I don’t forget my clothes in the dryer because I’m all lost in thought. “Hey Siri, countdown one hour,” I say towards my wrist. “One hour and counting,” she responds dutifully.

My mind has been so busy lately and my stomach upside down. All that stuff with Marianne has been a heavy load. I even thought about not doing the edible tonight because maybe I wasn’t in a good frame of mind for it. 

Last week it worked out okay. I did the same amount, one square, and ended up with an unexpectedly useful result. That’s when the straight and clear answer came to me saying I should sell my house in Austin. Man, if I sell that house, then what? I should really think about that. I grab my little bluetooth speaker from the kitchen and carry it with me. I’d been listening to the rest of The Young Turks while making my sandwich. Now, with the house all to myself, I am ready for some music. The portable speaker is all black and about the size of a 40 oz “tall boy.” Quite often it’s a “Pogo mix” on YouTube that feels right. 

The spring evening is cool in Denver. The front door is open to let in the magic hour’s light; the screen door keeps out the moths, though they always seem to find their way in anyway. I walk to the living room, set the speaker down on the big trunk topped with doilies we use as a coffee table. I then plunk myself onto the couch. I bet I could walk away with at least $350K from it. 

I keep thinking about what that Civilized to Death book had said about how our pre-”civilized” ancestors only worked about 3-4 hours a day. Not even work, really. Hanging out with their friends, cracking jokes, while gathering up some food from the trees or doing other basic tasks. I wonder how having this money could get me closer to that kind of lifestyle. Not the gathering my own food part, but just in general. I do think I would like to have a little garden, however

Do The Math

I look around the living room. Everything is old. I was once sitting in the living room while on a Skype call with my friend Boris, probably in the same spot where I sit now. He saw the decor behind me- old, darkened wood-grain, with thick drapery on the windows -and asked if I was traveling on the Orient Express. That guy sure has an eye for the obscure-but-true observations. What if I use the money to buy my own house. Do I even want to buy another house? If I did, I’d want it to have everything I want.

This was something I had already put a little bit of thought into. I’d want a four bedroom house, with the fourth bedroom set up with its own entrance so I could run an Airbnb like how I’d done it with my house in Austin. The master bedroom would be for me, duh….but the other one, or even two, would be for my roommate. Also on my wish list is a large “extra” room with tall windows all along one wall that faces the patio/garden. I would use the space for meditation or yoga or whatever else I wanted to use it for. Maybe I’d just play my music and dance.

If I sell the house and walk away with $350K, together with my other savings I’d be sitting on a total of about a half-million dollars. Man, that sounds like a lot. I wonder if I could just stop working now. I bet maybe I could. Wait, could I really? Don’t they say you need a million dollars to retire? I know I’ve heard that, or maybe it’s two million now. If I don’t have enough now…how much longer do I need to work until I have enough? Until I’m 65? Really….?! 

A sense of excitement starts to percolate inside my head. My thoughts begin rolling. I stand up to move around. Do I really have to work until I’m 65? Why do I think that? Oh my God! My arms rise up and my hands run half-way through my hair. It’s just like the 8 hour workday thing. I’m only assuming I need to work ‘til I’m 65, but who said that?! Jesus Christ! What am I working FOR, anyway?! I don’t even know. I’m just working. I’m working because that’s what we do? It’s expected. It’s “normal.” Work ‘til 65 or 66 or 70 and then retire. 

This realization is hitting me with unexpected force. How come I’ve never thought about this? Again I think, What am I working FOR!? I have my hands clasped behind my head now, my head is tilted back, mouth open, eyes wide, an expression of disbelief and shock. My eyes get a flush of moisture and start to blink more quickly. I have a feeling that I am emerging from the Truman Show, out from under the dome and into the real light of day. What am I doing here?! Is this why people talk to financial planners and junk? Why have I never done the math? WHY HAVE I NEVER DONE THE MATH?!!!

I’m getting that last one to the party feeling. I feel like a fool. Do other people think about this stuff? My gut tells me most people are just working working working because that’s what we’ve all been programmed to do. That’s been true of me. Maybe I need to check myself here. This feels big! I start wondering if maybe I am inside some cannabis-induced thought-vortex. All these rushing thoughts have me reeling. I pause the music.

Let me run through this again. I try to make all the same mental links. Civilization has handed us a way of life that in many ways is a bill of goods. The 8 hr workday was handed to us. Vacation time off per year- 2 weeks,handed to us. Where is my say-so? These are all pre-negotiated rules of society I had nothing to do with. How can I live on MY terms? Maybe I can; I’ve never done the math. Again, I think about working ‘till I’m 65 and how blindly I’ve accepted this as a stone-cold truth. After this second time through, I think, Oh man, I can see it in my mind. It’s real! 

Confident I am “on the right track,” I mentally race ahead. So if I leave my job, would I have enough money to live on? For how long? If I buy a house, have a roommate, and run an Airbnb, I wouldn’t need that much, right? Here’s the thing about me, I just want what I want. Being able to do what I want when I want to do it, makes me feel good. It’s my thing. Call me selfish, but it’s what I like. And the best news of all is that my wants just aren’t that grand, I don’t think. For example, it’s not like I need money to buy a boat or join a country club- I don’t even like golf and quite frankly find that whole scene off-putting (to put it gently). And if I can get away with not even owning a car, I will. 

What I want is an electric scooter, a quality set of cookware, and chopped pecans on my cereal in the morning. Yes, chopped pecans are kind of expensive. I know, I buy them all the time. But here’s how I think about it… Is my buying chopped pecans going to make a difference in my ability to afford living the life I want? That IS the life I want! Chopped pecans are not going to break me.

I walk from the living room back into the kitchen. I look around and imagine a different kitchen, MY kitchen. I told you about the living room being old and dark? Well, this kitchen hasn’t been up-dated in years. I go into the fridge for a passion fruit flavored La Croix.

The question I am zeroing in on, and the one I should have been asking all along is… how much money do I need for me to have the life I want- a four bedroom house, an electric scooter, quality cookware, and pecans for my cereal…. and still have enough to live on? Will half-a-million dollars do it? My gut says maybe. A feeling jabs my ego that I’ve been a fool for not ever mentally going down this road before. OMG! I’m still incredulous. I’ve never done the math! I’VE NEVER DONE THE FREAKING MATH! 

I Have Options

Ping…Ping….Ping… The alert on my watch goes off. The clothes should be dry. 

I open the door to the dryer and warmth spills out into the basement. Very much still in the elevated state of my cannabis high, it occurs to me how easy it would be to remove the clothes from the dryer all at once, if….. squatting down low, I put my left arm into the bottom of the dryer drum, but to the right of the pile of clothes, I insert my right arm also into the mouth of the dryer, also on the right side, but a little higher up on the drum. Then with my elbows I rotate the drum causing the clothes to tumble into my waiting arms for me to scoop. Whoa! That totally worked! I just invented a new way to get clothes out of a dryer.  

Back up in the living room, I spread out all the clothes on the couch and start my folding routine. Lay out the shirts first. I reach for a gray cotton work shirt. Where could I buy a house like I’m thinking? There’s more avalanche coming. Disregarding money for a second, I wonder…..If I were able to not work, and lived in a 4 bedroom house with the roommate and the Airbnb, where would I really want to live? I like Denver, but I’ve travelled a bit and honestly would not consider Denver to be one of the “great cities of the world.” 

More lightbulbs start going off. 

Oh my God! I have my hands back up to my head. If a half a million is somehow enough for me to live on and I don’t have to work any more, I could live anywhere. I wouldn’t be tied to a job! I could live ANYWHERE!  The proverbial bolt of lightning is knocking my socks right off. I think, if I were starting from scratch. Where would I live? Like…what city? What country? My mind has gone full global tilt. I think about my experiences traveling the world and all of the cities I visited: Quito; Santiago; Auckland; Hangzhou; Istanbul; and a hundred cities more.  

The US is going down, I’m convinced of it. Government corruption is beyond repair and will not be stopped by Trump, Biden, me or anyone else. I swear I tried. Late-stage capitalism sets the rules, our media is complicit, money has taken over every branch of government. This is not the America I was born into. It’s just not. And it’s only going to get worse from here, at least for regular schmoes like me. If America ever recovers from this mess it won’t be in my lifetime. But I don’t have to live here, do I? I could totally live in another country.

With this money, I have options.

I’m Leaving You Baby

In the blink of an idea, the turn has been made. With the same rational and pragmatic certainty I felt when I knew I should sell my house in Austin, I suddenly know I am going to leave America. Excitement around what this means for my life has my body moving and stretching, as if I am warming up for a big game. I pretzel my arms in front of me and feel the stretch through my shoulders and back. Oh my God, this is big! I bend my body at the waist and go all the way to the floor, rising a moment later with my arms outstretched to the sides. I am expanding.  

What would it be like to live in another country? The impact of this idea quickly reverberates. I have a pretty good chunk of my life left to live, at least another 25 years. I lived 55 years here, could I not live the next 25 somewhere else? There’s nothing stopping me, right? I have no family, no relationship partner to negotiate with. I do have options. I speak English and my Spanish is not too shabby either. 

No longer am I marching down the corridor of civilization that had kept me compliant all my life…. I DO HAVE OPTIONS!! 

The Final Poetic Confluence

That was it! I’d thought it through and come out the other side; the avalanche has settled. But it’s sure stirred up a lot of dust. I didn’t know everything, but I knew on that night that I wanted to make a new life for myself outside of America. I knew I wanted to start living life on my own terms. 

The very next day, I called my friend Vanessa in a rush. Give me Tim’s number. What’s his number? I need to make an appointment with him as soon as possible. Tim is the financial planner Vanessa had been trying to get me to have a conversation with for a while. As soon as she shares with me his contact info, I place the call. He doesn’t pick up so I leave a message. I send him a text, too, for good measure. A few minutes after that I call my real estate agent friend in Austin. Mike, I want to sell the house. I’m ready. What do we need to do? 

I feel the rush and it doesn’t stop for days. In one night I have set myself on a trajectory where so many, many things would be new. New house, new city, new country, new neighbors, friends, furniture, food, parks, radio, street signs… it would ALL be new to me. Depending on where I end up, I could potentially even be surrounded by a new language- one that is not my native tongue.  

And what of all this course of therapy I have committed myself to? This is the coup de grace, the pièce de résistance, the ultimate in poetic confluence– The thought that I might also, in some very key way, be a new me, psychologically and emotionally “cleansed” of burdens I’d carried for a lifetime, was too pure a merging of events to dismiss without excitement. Things happen for a reason is back on the board.

Let’s go! Let’s GO! LET’S GOOOOOOOO!!!!

The World Has Changed…Me

Torres del Paine National Park in southern Chile

I look at the lady and say smiling, “It shouldn’t take me more than 10 or 15 minutes. If I’m not down in an hour, call 9-1-1.” With that, I climb up the ladder beneath the small portal cut into her ceiling and disappear….into an oven I go. 

It is 3 pm in the afternoon on a Wednesday and the heat from this Colorado summer day is peaking. Holy hell, the temp in this attic is probably near 130. I was already sweaty from laboring through my first two houses, but that doesn’t stop me from pumping out a new layer of sweat on top of the old. 

I’m wearing a pair of black jeans, Dickies brand. My two shirts both have long sleeves. The Sunrun installers shirt I wear next to my skin is gray and cotton, the top layer a solid black synthetic with a collar. And don’t overlook the Sunrun logo on my left chest. My head is covered first with my favorite cap, but then further surrounded by a “bump cap” – a hard-shelled hat I wear to blunt the nails that might greet me while measuring the underside of this roof. Around my face I wear an N95 mask for the dust. Above my forehead is a headlamp. 

There is not much room up inside this oven. I cannot stand up. Crawling on hands and knees through the insulation is my only option. The disturbed insulation creates a cloud of particles that appear to shine as they float through the light of my headlamp. On the upper part of the roof I am able to measure the rafter sizes relatively easily. The truly uncomfortable challenge will be getting my tape measure onto the lower rafters, the ones that span the vaulted living room and only enter the attic by a couple of inches. I shuffle down the joists towards my target. The sloping roof above my head narrows as I squeeze my body into lizard shape, no longer able to baby-crawl for lack of vertical space. So hot up here!

The worst part, the very worst is when I make that final reach of the tape measure, left hand going forward as far as I can stretch, the right hand awkwardly aiming the phone’s camera, my face now hovers a half-inch to the nasty insulation.   

I chose this…?  OMG, I chose this.


I Must Be Inspired, or Not

One thing about traveling is that between the sites, cities, countries and continents, there is a whole lot of time to fill. Podcasts and books have their place, but there’s still plenty of uninterrupted time left over to think. As I traveled the world, pondering my place within it was unavoidable. 

Whether I knew it or not, my world-infused ponder had invisibly shifted the relationship I had to everything. Once my world trip was over and I was re-entering normal life in Austin, Texas, I felt a fresh exuberance to do something that would connect me to some “larger goodness.” It was a rush of enthusiasm that lasted a good few weeks. An enthusiasm for…. well, I didn’t know exactly what. But as time wore on, my urge to live inspired soon gave way to the practical realities of daily living. By the time I’d been back 5 or 6 weeks, my initial zeal for doing something meaningful with my life morphed into, “I just gotta get a job.”

Next thing you know I was plugged back into a mundane job very similar to the one I had before my world tour began. With a weighted heart, but still the best of intentions, I accepted a Research Analyst position at Texas Medicaid. Spreadsheets, databases, and internal reports would be my lot in life for the foreseeable future.

Though my work life would be set for a while…my life at home was in trouble. 

The story of my break-up with Jessica, the beautiful partner I had shared so many amazing life experiences with, will not be told here. Our demise as a couple is complicated, sad, and impossible to re-tell fairly or objectively. Therefore, I will leave it alone almost entirely.

What I will say is that I was unhappy. The decision to end the relationship came slowly and with intense trepidation. But once I reached that point mentally, and our 9 1/2 year relationship was over, I was only trading one box of unhappy for a new box of uncertainty.

Fine Is No Longer Fine

Stories told by the generation of NASA astronauts that first walked on the moon reveal a lot about what it’s like to return to the ordinary after living the extraordinary. One astronaut hung up his space suit and became a priest. Another turned his attention to art and lived out his days painting. Alan Shepard, the first American in space and also one of the few astronauts that walked on the moon, was profoundly impacted by the contrast he saw between the desolate, inhospitable moon, and the fountain of life that is planet Earth. Not only did his experience on the moon amplify his appreciation of Earth’s wonders, the simplest of pleasures delighted him equally.  In one interview, Shepard describes a favorite activity of his- walking to the shopping center, finding an ice cream cone and a bench, and watching the people pass by.  

While I did not see the Earth from the moon’s surface, I did see our planet in a way very few others ever will. My trip around the world did not turn me into a painter or priest, but I did find it increasingly uncomfortable to live my old life. For example, my job was fine, my coworkers were fine, the things I worked on were fine. The problem was that “fine” was no longer fine with me.

I don’t know where this phrase came from, but I’ve always liked it:  The three most important things in life are where you live, where you work, and how your hair looks. 

After the breakup, my where you live was uncertain, and my where you work was a pillar made of straw. Even my hair was a mess! I wasn’t sleeping well. I was tired all the time. 

I really didn’t know how to move forward. I felt broken.